Are you fucking kidding me?
My loyal followers will remember an earlier post about how I lost my passport, though I knew I had “hidden” it in a safe place. I was talking to a friend on the phone and needed something quiet to do during our conversation so I decided to tear apart my office to find the ever-elusive passport.
I went through every single file folder in my two-drawer cabinet. Not there.
I moved every single book on my five-shelve bookcase. Not there.
I took everything out of my bench cabinet and went through all six CD storage bins. Not there.
I took every drawer out of my six-drawer closet organizer. Not there. (But I did reorganize them before I put them back in. You know I couldn’t help myself.)
“Shit!”
I said it again louder, for effect. It was definitely not in the office. But where else could it be? I’ve used that suitcase multiple times since then. “Shit!” I said again, this time spinning around the office. My grandfather’s old cigar box on the shelf caught my eye. Not there. But it felt warmer. I went through his old Bibles stacked on same shelf. Not there. It seemed so familiar though, so I moved every frame, checking behind each. Behind the last picture on the top shelf, there it was. My passport, with my Social Security Card tucked inside.
Are you fucking kidding me?
How did I ever think I was going to remember that secret location? Now maybe I will go to Sweden. (Erik, I’m looking at you.)